The inevitable distraction of tea

The big purple mug sat and stared moodily at me from the corner of the big oak desk. Its presence mocked and taunted me, hogging my attention like a hungry toddler in a superstore full of chocolate treats. I tried to ignore it, as a mother attempts to ignore the child’s tantrum in the cake aisle, but it refused to be ignored.

I lifted and held my mug in the way it loves being held, two fingers through the handle and the rest of my hand lovingly wrapped around, just to reassure it that I had not forgotten how much it meant to me. Never before had my beloved ‘World’s best Dad’ cup looked so sad.

I sighed as I lifted the cup and felt the coldness of the ceramic against my touch. No hot tea had blessed this vessel for some time, perhaps even half an hour by the feel of it.

“Fill me now” it seemed to mutter, the words breaking up with heartfelt tears, and echoing in my head like an explosion of emotion in a cavern of despair. “Please – I need it, warm me with tea and put me to your lips again.”

I choked back a tear as I looked into the stained pit of emptiness at the bottom of my mug, and stared miserably at the cold, thickly brown sludge resting there. I held my breath to calm the fire in my heart at the sight of the swollen wet crumbs, betraying the secret packet of Digestives that I had hidden behind the Idiots guide to Blogging. There are some things that are best kept secret in all marriages, Digestives are one such thing.

I felt the pull of the Digestives calling my attention away from the empty mug and towards the book shelf, but it did not last long. What good is a Digestive without tea?

I put the cup down with a flourish of decisiveness and determination. I was not going to be a slave to distraction and prevarication any longer. My fingers returned to the keyboard and I stared at the monitor, daring Microsoft Word to try and give me its leering look of condescending disgust again. All I had to do was concentrate, and something would write itself down on my screen, something would come to mind – something always does.

For five whole minutes, my fingers were a blur as I opened up the thesaurus and found out what prevarication meant. And condescending.

And flourish.

And gusset.

I sighed as I realised I could think of no more words to dive into and discover. The screen blinked at me. I blinked at the screen. Finally I smiled, as inspiration hit me squarely between the eyes.

With the oppressive weight of writer’s block lifted from my over burden shoulders, I threw a flirtatious wink at my mug and laughed as I said, “Oh come on then, you frisky little devil.”

The writing can wait a few minutes while the kettle boils.

also at my blog - http://www.glenslife.com/

being content in the now...

It doesn't seem all that long ago when, living in Melbourne in the middle of a drought, I had almost forgotten the sound of rain.

Now it seems that rain is a constant companion in this part of the world and liquid sunshine has replaced its warmer, drier counterpart.

Rain. 

So welcome at the end of a long day when one can snuggle a little further under the covers and listen to the calming rhythm of drops on the roof while sleep takes its hold.

But so NOT welcome right now. Everyone is over it. And with good reason, too...the floods further north of here have been nothing short of devastating and our hot Australian summer has been replaced with a soggy, humid season in which plans are cancelled and indoor activity options are exhausted.

The funny thing is, though, that if we weren't complaining about the rain, it would be something else... too hot... too cold... too dry... the list goes on. 

I think the reality is that the weather is kind of like the circumstances of life - they rarely ever feel "perfect".

There always seems to be something we want to change... a season we are ready to say goodbye to or an unfulfilled desire consuming this moment's joy.

The mountain top experiences do not last forever and it is easy to forget to delight in every moment when you are fixated with reaching the next peak.  

I have recently been reminded to make the most of the now. While there are things in the future I am looking forward to, I want to make sure I enjoy this season for what it is and get the most out of it before it is gone.  Obsessing about that which is not my reality right now will only bring discontentment and regret.

God alone is the one who controls the seasons of my life and my desire is to be content in the now. I will choose to seek Him in the times of drought, be refreshed by him in times of rain, cling to Him in the floods, and rejoice with Him from the mountain tops. 

He is a good God who fulfills His promises. I need to enjoy what He has given me for now, while I look forward to what is to come in the future.

I need to throw on my gumboots and go and splash in the puddles!

"I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength." Phil 4: 11-13

Also published on my blog

Gone are the days...

Gone are the days
when you could
put an upside down
container on your head
and pretend to
be a fireman
or a space cadet
or zombie.

Gone are the days
when you could
laugh out senseless
and roll on the floor
thanks to a
fart or burp
or other bodily sounds.

Gone are the days
when dewdrops
mesmerized you and
Mr. Moon excited you
no end; when a
fountain was all
you needed to
make your world complete.

Gone are the days
when everything was
new and held promise
when you didn't know
what tomorrow was
but you knew it
would be bright
like today.

Gone are the days
when you uninhibitedly
hugged
and kissed
those who made you
feel special.

Gone are the days when
the loss of a toy truck
was the biggest tragedy
of your life
and the acquisition
of a new one
your biggest triumph.

Gone are the days when
you could laugh
and cry wantonly
when you could
love with
utmost passion
when you could
pick yourself up
dust yourself off
and carry on
with the same
enthusiasm.

Gone are the days when
you didn't know
the meaning
of prejudice
aim
ambition
purpose
guilt
hatred
remorse
jealousy
or hardship.

Gone are the days
when your existence
was simple
your needs basic
your wants
limited to icecream
and one more ride
on a toy train.

Gone are the days
when you were
really, truly, genuinely
content.
When you lived
the meaning of
happiness
and didn't just
read about it
in a book.

Gone are the days
when you were
free.

 

 

 

 
Also posted on my blog.

No Mittens Allowed!

Photo courtesy of Bing images
and Stephanie Lynn

A great many blog articles that I write are inspired by random conversations with friends, and this one is no different. It occurred through a series of emails and blog comments posted between my friend and fellow blogger, Dave Roy (Dave's Buttoned Up Mind blog) and I. He writes about a lot of tech-ish stuff, video games and such, as well as a fun series on music's one hit wonders. We're so opposite in writing style, yet we find a great deal to enjoy about one another's respective blogs. Dave has mentioned a couple times that he appreciates my ability to write long, thoughtful, involved blog posts that flow to the point that he never feels restless or burdened while reading them.


That made me smile, I must say, because every writer dreads hearing that they're writing content so ponderous and lengthy that it is exhausting to their readers to plow through. I am definitely verbose - I admit this right up front! In the past, I have actually challenged myself to write tighter content, to produce blog articles that are briefer in format, and I have succeeded. In fact, some of those examples represent some of my favorite work. That being said, writing short blog articles isn't all that comfortable for me. There's definitely merit in constantly challenging oneself, as it sharpens the mind and writing skills. I don't deny that concept, and I do practice restraint much more than anyone could imagine when writing.

Short articles, however, are not natural to my writing style. In that conversation with Dave, I likened it to wearing mittens. For the record, I am not a mitten person. Not even close! In fact, I loathe the things. During my childhood, mittens were the norm for children to wear and actual fingered gloves weren't all that commonly available in stores. So, mittens prevailed. My wee hands would be stuffed into those abominations, crammed together and sweating, muffled by the thickly woven material, unable to breathe or FEEL anything. I would fumble and drop things because my mitten wrapped hands were made clumsy and incapable of securely grasping items, or turning doorknobs, or picking something up. I absolutely despised it and begged my Mom for fingered gloves every winter, because as the original overly protective single parent, she was determined that we stay bundled up every second we were outside.

As an adult, regardless of the cold weather, I rarely wear gloves of any type. In fact, it is rare that I even wear a coat. East Tennessee has fairly temperate winters these days. But beyond that, my fingers would much rather feel frozen and be able to breathe than be cloaked in thick mittens, shrouded from the world, unable to experience or express emotions. Yes, I talk with my hands. It's intrinsic to my nature, much as is writing.

Ergo, in case you were wondering what my point is with this post, writing short blog articles is akin, to me, to being forced to wear mittens. Yes, I can write a brilliantly succinct, tightly woven, punchy article that is beautiful in its brevity. Off the top of my head, there are several of these that come to mind in the Healing Morning archives, and I am justly proud of them. However, where I truly shine as a writer is in the longer, flowing articles that Dave described. I like to mosey a bit as I broaden the body of the storyline. While brevity can deliver a knife edged presentation, there is a lot to appreciate for a bit more of a leisurely stroll down the path towards culmination. Nuances are there to explore and elaborate upon. Colors and textures and shadings....tangible memories to paint with words, scensory wonders to revisit and prompt within the reader's mind...those are so much fun to weave together in written format to me! And to do that in my own unique manner requires that my hands not be mitten muffled.

So, for the most part, my writing is going to be that longer format. I always do my best to ensure logical progression and flow to the thoughts expressed here, and I do appreciate the kind affirmation that Dave gave me with his comments on same. It's always a happy thing to be appreciated and accepted, unconditionally, for who you are at your very core. At my very core, I am a wordy writer! Bare fingers tapping madly away at the keyboard, or scribbling with equal fervor with pen and paper....the end product will rarely be brief, unless I am consciously making the effort, out of begrudged self-restraint. As I am much happier when not practising self-restraint in writing, you can expect the longer, flowy posts here. I hope that you'll enjoy my efforts and find that the reading is enjoyable.

For this writer, the rule of the day, no matter the weather, is simply, "No Mittens Allowed!" Freedom of fingers to produce a rhapsody of words suits me.

**Thanks to Stephanie Lynn for graciously helping me out with the above graphic image of the No Mittens Allowed icon. Stephanie is a gifted graphic artist who makes beautiful banners for Facebook and blog application. You can contact her on Facebook via http://www.facebook.com/#!/steph4c.**
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If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.

When sons trump daughters

Every time I visit India, I am hit in the face with gender discrimination. Some obtuse remark, action, or general sense of “women are lesser than men” reminds me we still have a long way to go when it comes to mass societal acceptance that women can do everything men can equally well — sometimes better.

This time around the realization that we may never be able to reach the end of the journey was even more obvious.
As I sat cross-legged and moist-eyed in a room full of mourning relatives, I couldn’t help but question the “done things.” My cousin brother who lived halfway across the world had been flying in every other week to check up on his ailing mom. This time he had flown across two continents to light her pyre.

My aunt lost her battle with cancer. A breast cancer survivor, she couldn’t ward off the disease that had sneaked its way into her brain and liver.

Her youngest daughter sat across the room, head bowed, tears streaming down her face relentlessly. She was the only “local” child. Her older sister, like her brother, lived abroad. Three years younger to me, she had shouldered the responsibility single-handedly. Taking my aunt to the hospital, consulting with doctors, managing day-to-day household chores, being the caregiver for my uncle who had recently suffered a heart attack. She had left her job and moved in with her parents, so she could be there for them full time.

She did everything — and more — that folks in India expect of sons.

And yet, during the havan, she was sitting by the door, her role relegated to that of an usher.

She couldn’t handle any of the puja samagri, she couldn’t help distribute the prasaad, she had to ask if it was ok for her to touch anything that made its way to her during the ritual. The reason? Someone somewhere eons ago decided that the departed soul could only find peace when the last rites and other funeral ceremonies were performed by the son (or another male relative in case the deceased had no male offsprings).

And here we are, in 2010, blindly following that custom.

While the whole idea of the havan and other ceremonies associated with death doesn’t sit well with me (what’s the point? … the person who died is gone; all this “stuff” is only being done for those left behind … to give them some sort of closure and help the pundits expand their coffers), what irked me even more was the fact that the person who did the most for my aunt when she was alive, was not allowed to partake in any activity related to her death.

Things had to be done the “proper” way, i.e. by the son. If she participated, everything would become “impure” and the departed soul would find no rest.

Baloney.

I haven’t found any evidence in our scriptures that daughters can’t perform the last rites or actively participate in any funeral-related traditions. It may be considered a man’s “duty,” but is there any reasoning why?

For years I’ve heard how daughters are always so much more caring and affectionate than sons. For years I’ve witnessed the reciprocation of love and emotional nourishment between parents and their female offsprings. For years I’ve experienced zero gender discrimination in my immediate family. But at a time like this, all of that means naught.

Why?

I think my cousin sister had as much right –if not more! — as her brother to perform the last rites. But our culture doesn’t allow for that.

And I doubt it will anytime soon.

Men just aren't designed for Christmas shopping

Hello all – as you can clearly tell I am alive, this is a bigger deal than you may expect, because this weekend I faced a deadly and dark peril.

This weekend we went Christmas shopping.

Ah yes I can hear the collective sigh as you tut, “but it’s the middle of November Glen, what are you going on about?” Yes indeed it is, but my wife has learned well over the years. Jo knows exactly how to work me.

We men do have a completely different outlook on the whole shopping experience to those of the female persuasion. My wife knows full well that if she wants my help and support when it comes to the Christmas shop, if she wants me there holding bags, making suggestions and decisions for her to overrule, then she has to think hard and use her most cunning tricks on me.
Firstly I absolutely refuse to go anywhere near a British Mall or High Street after 25th November. It just isn’t worth it. The crowds jostling for 5p off an Arran Jumper just get out of control and I can’t stand it. Therefore Jo has to accept that Christmas shopping happens early if I am to be present.

Next, Jo will arrange for the boys to be taken into care. It may sound harsh but it is for the best. Happily, in our case the care home chosen is where the boy’s Grandparents live, so it wasn’t too bad for them. With the boys taken care of for the night we were able to book a room and make a weekend of it. Jo knows full well that I can’t resist the idea of a romantic night away in a hotel, so she will hint and wink that that she will be packing her best underwear. I fall for it every time.
With a room booked and the boys in care, we headed off to Bath.

It wasn’t long at all before we arrived in Bristol.

It was a last minute change of plan forced on us by the appalling weather. At Bristol we could go to Cribbs Causeway, which is inside. When we got there, Jo told me that if I was good and stayed with her for two shops I could have a hot chocolate, and so we hit House of Fraser. I had been conned. House of Fraser may be technically one actual shop if you look at it objectively, but I always think that Department stores are a cheat and should count as at least five shops. We were in there for hours. Every now and again I’d get a knowing nod from another bedraggled husband as he was dragged along by his wife. I saw one man having a tantrum by the changing rooms, he refused to try a jumper on until he was told that if he didn’t try it on, he wouldn’t be allowed to stay up and watch Match of the Day that night.

Time stood still, literally. I asked Jo how long it would be until we could have hot chocolate every 5 minutes for an hour, and the answer was always 10 minutes. I had strayed into ‘Shopping Time’ which uses different rules and runs at different speeds depending on what sex you are. When we finished shopping I was 8 years 6 months, 4 weeks, 3 days, 2 hours, 7 minutes and 25 seconds older than before we started. Jo had only aged three hours.

Eventually, Jo released us form the store, only to dive straight into a shop that had absolutely NOTHING useful in it whatsoever. You have never seen anything like it. Every inch of every shelf was taken up by something utterly useless but pretty. I heard Jo mumbling about how this or that would look good in OUR kitchen, I figured I was supposed to be noting this down, but I couldn’t work out what it was that Jo was actually looking at. For sure it wasn’t a George Forman Grill, which I happen to think WOULD look good in our kitchen. Apparently it was something that you dangle from the door knob and look at from time to time, strictly on the grounds that it is the same colour as the walls – I really do not understand women.

True to her word, I was allowed a hot chocolate, and Jo even produced a packet of wine gums from her pocket as an extra reward. I think that may have been a mistake though, because I soon wound up in trouble for running around Costa Coffee giggling with the sugar rush.
The day continued in little chunks of two shops followed by a treat. Two shops, treat, telling off. Two shops, no treat, punishment and then back to the start. Eventually we made it to the hotel absolutely knackered and frazzled and cold. It wasn’t very romantic. Jo’s best underwear, also turned out to be her most comfortable.

The next day we hit Bath. Bath is lovely. In Bath there are (I counted) exactly four million shops. As the day slowly wore on, my will to live evaporated. We even somehow wound up in a couple of shoe shops. I thought to myself that Jo was being particularly generous to her friends this year, and tried to work out which one of them had exactly the same size feet as my wife.
Eventually Jo took pity on me. My wife is not heartless after all, so she gave me a smile and said “come on”. I was led into Bath’s one and only ‘Man Creche’ cunningly called ‘The Sony Centre’. I was led into the centre of this glorious haven and told not to leave until Jo came back to get me. Jo picked up a ticket from the lady at the door and left a small bag behind containing some spare pants – just in case.

I browsed about in a daze, looking at the beautiful systems on display. I listened to the sounds coming from the crystal clear speakers and marvelled at the 44 inch Televisions. A few of the other men were huddled around a 48 incher showing Star Trek and I happily joined them. We all shared a nod and a smile.

Slowly all my new little friends were picked up by their wives and headed away back to shopping servitude. I was left all alone, Jo was nowhere to be seen. The man who sells the i-pods, noted my growing concern and came over with a beaker of Ribena and a biscuit. It was a beautiful moment.

At last Jo returned and with a hug took me across the road to Debenhams. Apparently there were some baubles I needed to see.

The shopping continued until at last, we were done. Before I knew it we were back home and the kids were excitedly telling us what they had done at Grandma’s.

Job done for another year.

Happy bloody Christmas.

Glen Staples - also posted at www.Glenslife.com

Song of Friendship

Photo courtesy of
Bing images

As I drove around doing my errands today, I reflected on energy patterns and how they relate to friendship. This post will be published here on Healing Morning blog, but is also destined to be an article in the next quarterly issue of Aromatique Essentials E-zine in Australia. The general theme of this upcoming issue is friendship, and this is why it took me a while to decide exactly what to write. I didn't want to recycle old thoughts, or repackage a prior blog post.

Everything we do, say, think and feel is producing energetic patterns. These patterns manifest into myriad corporeal forms, but friendship is one pattern that is slightly ephemeral. It takes shape and form in those people we choose to call friends, be they blood relatives or family of our heart, but friendship itself is an unseen thing.

We all know a wide range of euphemisms that denote how we interact with others. One would be that "water seeks its own level". Another would be that "we are judged by the company we keep". Yet another is my own thought, and it is that when walking on a beach, one grain of sand cannot shift without affecting the millions of other tiny grains around it. We are like unto that grain of sand in relation to friendship and the people we allow into our Inner Circle.

As with water seeking its own level, we as human beings resonate at a specific vibratory level, attracting other people vibrating at that same or similar vibration. This is my own theory, of course, but I feel it rings true. It would be highly unlikely for any of us to feel physically, emotionally or spiritually comfortable spending time around another person whose intrinsic energy is discordant and not in harmony with our own vibration. I feel that in this manner, we attract others and we form relationships that complement on an energetic level.

Because all of Life is of a cyclic nature, there come those moments when friendship...and harmonic energy...no longer match. It is this moment that we usually find most painful, as it is the hallmark of that relationship coming to an end. I used to struggle mightily with this experience, as it is my nature and preference to keep people I love in my life forever. It took many years of living through these cycles to understand and accept that not all relationships are meant to last forever. For some, these cycles are more easily weathered, but I haven't always handled it with equanimity. Indeed, the realization and understanding for me, now, tell me that many friendships are meant to burn brightly, quickly, bring strong blessings, and cycle to a close rather quickly. I still don't like this particular manifestation, but I have come to recognize the beauty of these experiences when they do occur. I have found a way to be thankful and appreciative of the time and happiness of every friendship I am blessed with. If they are of a short duration, I have also learned that sometimes, they cycle back around years later in my life. When this occurs, it is particularly lovely, as both I and that old friend have grown and changed in the interim, allowing a homecoming that is a fascinating celebration.

With age comes wisdom....another old homily. The older I get, the more I recognize that Life is, indeed, an endless cycle of patterns, dances, puzzles, harmonies and paintings. I mentioned in my last blog post that "friendships are the defining, delicate touches of color on our Souls, I think. Each person we allow into our Inner Circle adds a new element to our personal canvas, and in so doing, they add contrast." (Contrasts, November 6, 2010) Through the medium of the internet, I have connected with people I would never otherwise have been able to meet in this lifetime. From Knoxville, Tennessee to Australia, I have connected in friendship with Julie Nelson (Aromatique Essentials proprietor) and as a result, my writing is reaching an even wider audience.

From a good health perspective, friendship is essential to us. Being able to confide in that close friend, being able to laugh, to play, to relax completely...all of these things nurture our Spirit and bestow a wide range of health benefits. I could go off on a wild tangent on all the good health aspects of friendship, but that is a topic for another article. Today, as I ran errands, I reflected on the esoteric application of friendship and how the interactions we have with our friends ultimately weaves a strong energetic presence, albeit invisible to our human eyes.



Photo courtesy of
http://www.silverfernz.com/

 I imagine that the love between friends produces the most beautiful energy pattern, if we could see it with our eyes....produces the most ethereal musical rhapsody, if we could hear it with our ears....produces a woven tapestry of unspeakable beauty, if we could touch it with our hands. We can do none of these things, but the gift we are given is to feel it with our hearts and minds. Our Spirit, that essential, unique thumbprint of energy each of us is, feels the blessing and happy energy that friendship produces. And we are all richer for this blessing.

Here in the United States, we are approaching our Thanksgiving holiday, so I find this a very fitting tribute to be writing about my own perspective of friendship. We are always, always exactly where we are meant to be in our lives, with the perfect people surrounding us, offering lessons and reflecting back to us what we are sending out to the world. Take a moment to give this thought, as it is a powerful statement. People come into our lives to teach us and also to reflect back to us. I often remind myself of this very fact if I am feeling dissatisfaction or a lack of harmony surrounding me. That niggling sensation of things not quite feeling right, as though puzzle pieces aren't aligning properly, is usually a red flag indicating some inner house cleaning is necessary. Yet another blessing friendship can offer us, if we are willing to listen, be open and also be honest with ourselves.

I find it very appropriate, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, to be writing about the beautiful harmony and blessings of friendship. As I have written this article, my thoughts have come together in a manner that pleases me, because I also learn from the process. Little gems of wisdom that I have stumbled across over a lifetime will suddenly surface, fitting into the body of text in just the right fashion. As a result, my own resolve and Spirit are strengthened and the vibrations that I radiate outward get a bit of a shine and polish. It is my choice, my conscious intent, to always radiate positive energy so that in return, I may attract similar positive energy and people. I want the friendships and love in my life to reflect the best version of Me that I am capable of rendering each day. I call it a song of friendship, this harmony that we all come together to produce.

To those in the United States celebrating Thanksgiving in the coming week, I wish you a safe, happy, blessed holiday. To my friends and readers elsewhere in this big, beautiful world, I wish you days of peace for the coming holiday season as well.

Namaste'.
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If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.